


I burned so long, so quiet

by SmilinStar



Series: paint me a picture (of us) [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: “You’re breaking me out?”“Why did you think we were here?”It’s written all over his face. He knows why, and yet there’s a hopeful glint in his eyes that sits horribly in her chest. She decides to stab it in the heart and put him out of his misery.





	I burned so long, so quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 3x05. I couldn’t help myself. Also, this is probably part of a longer story, which I started writing before 3x05 aired, so we’ll see where it goes after this. Title from Annelyse Gelman’s _The Pillowcase._

 

*

 

“Orange is definitely not your colour.”

He doesn’t even startle at the words. Just cracks one eye open, and swivels his head in her direction as he lies there on his bunk, arms folded across his chest.

It irritates her to think that he’s actually been expecting this. Expecting her. _Them._ Sooner or later. Expecting that they would come to his rescue, and he’s just been patiently waiting all this time.

She wants to punch him across his smug face. Again.

It’s a face that hasn’t changed a whole lot.

The hair has grown out a little, the beard is back in place, and he looks like the Rip of old and that jolts her heart in its cage and she really, _really_ , hates that he can still do that to her.

“Captain Lance,” he says with a smile in his voice and a smirk on his lips, “this is a surprise.”

Sara fights to keep the flicker of emotion from breaking the blank, cold look on her face. She thinks she’s doing a terrible job, because there’s a grimace now on Rip’s as he pushes himself up to sit. Almost as if he can feel the flames of an anger that’s been burning within her for months on end now.

So much for keeping her cool.

“What can I do for you?” he asks.

“You can shut the hell up and get a move on!” Mick grunts from the doorway, trusty heat gun in hand, as he keeps a lookout.

Sara shoots him a glance before breathing out and turning to face their former captain once more. “What he says.”

It’s Rip who looks away this time, shaking his head, a breath leaving his lips in a huff of disbelief, and maybe, just maybe, she had it wrong. Maybe he’d never believed they were ever coming back for him. That he would wither away sitting in this Bureau cell and never see the glimmering blue and green lights of a timestream ever again.

Maybe this is all a front.

In any case, she feels like she never really knew him at all.

Not any one of them did.

She thinks, that maybe, he doesn’t even know himself.

And the anger softens just a little, and she hates herself for it. Because he’s only going to disappoint her. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s that.

“You’re breaking me out?”

“Why did you think we were here?”

It’s written all over his face. He knows why, and yet there’s a hopeful glint in his eyes that sits horribly in her chest. She decides to stab it in the heart and put him out of his misery;

“Look, Rip, we need your help with Mallus. And don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’ because I have a knife in reach and you know I won’t miss.”

There’s a twitch of an upturn to the corner of his mouth, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say it was his version of a fond smile, which only makes the thump of her heart more painful.

With a raise of a brow, and glittering eyes, he asks, “just one?”

He holds her gaze and she feels like she’s burning alive. And god, she hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

“You know,” he says standing up and edging closer, while she fights the urge to move. Forwards. Backwards. She doesn’t know which way her traitorous heart beats. “You don’t need to break me out for me to help you, I can just tell you whatever you need to know.”

She shakes her head. “You want us to leave you in here?”

“Now, I didn’t say that.”

“The man has a point,” Mick chimes in, head turning in their direction. “We should just take what we need and leave him to rot.”

Sara ignores him. Rip doesn’t.

“It is what I deserve.”

And the self-loathing that reflects back at her is like a battering ram to the twenty feet tall, padlocked door she hides behind.

“Yes it is,” she says quietly, but the words don’t have time to sink and settle as there’s the sudden buzz of the locking mechanism to his cell coming undone just then. A split second of silence follows, before the deafening blare of the security alarms kick in, flashing red, and Jax appears in the doorway.

He’s out of breath, and carrying something painfully familiar in his hands. He throws it over to Sara, and urges them along, “we gotta go, _now_!”

She nods, her eyes searching Rip’s as she answers back, “we’ll be right behind you.”

She pushes the cell door ajar, and Rip hasn’t moved an inch.

“Here,” she says, holding out what’s now in her hands, “wear this. It’s the best we can do to not draw any attention. We didn’t have time to knock out any guards and steal their uniforms.”

She doesn’t add it’s a poor substitute for his jumpsuit, likely to draw just as much attention, but the want, _the need_ , to see him in it again, is too much for her argue, to deny. It’s the need for something familiar, to feel that maybe she hasn’t been a complete idiot in trusting him over and over; that maybe the Rip she knows, the Rip she feels too much for despite herself, is still there, somewhere.

He looks down at her outstretched hand, and his eyes widen. He swallows, voice thick as he asks, “where did you find it?”

She grasps for a foothold and steadies herself with a familiar smirk, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

There’s a genuine smile on his lips now as he takes it from her. Fingers brushing against hers and she wonders if he does it on purpose. That maybe he’s missed her just as much as she has him, but can’t put it into words.

He pulls on his old brown trench coat, and though he still looks ridiculous – the coat not hiding away all of the hideously bright orange, colours clashing horrendously – it’s a fight to keep her voice even. “Now _that_ , that is much more your colour.”

“Thank you,” he says, the emotion weighing the words down enough to tell her it’s for so much more, but she says nothing. Just turns to the doorway and swallows down the lump in her throat. Mick and Jax are already halfway down the corridor, and they really need to hurry. The Bureau will be on them any minute now.

And it’s not something she needs to explain to him; a stark reminder of just how well they work together.

He steps up behind her, ready to go, and yet.

_And yet_ , something holds him back. It’s a war that plays out, and it’s the enemy that fires first.

The soft “Sara” from his lips stops her still. And it’s anger that burns again. _Don’t say it. Don’t say it._

“Sara, I really am-”

She turns to face him, and he’s closer than she’d expected.

And this time she does take a step back, and his face falls with it.

_No_ , she says, but doesn’t. _No, you don’t just get to throw the word around. You need to_ mean _it. You need to_ earn _it._

And somehow, he hears it all.

He lets the sentence remain unfinished, holds her gaze and nods.

_You lead, I follow_ , is what he says, but doesn’t.

It’s a start.

And she’ll take it.

 

**End.**

 


End file.
